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Abdulla 57m
Abuse, avoid, forgive, abuse, avoid, forgive
It’s never ending a cycle of stupidity I allow to continue
We talk, we have fun, but I must follow the script

A cycle of stupidity I can’t break free of
Oh, how family can cause so much pain
A crave for love, and a crave to love
And all they crave is to be on top

But it’s not my fault you’re not the favorite
It’s not my fault you’re lazy and dumb
But it is my fault I stay
Stay in this box, broken and withered,

I stay with hopes you’ll change
But it’s been 15 years
And your grip has gotten stronger
And your heart has gotten colder
As my heart falls further

But I crave for love and protection
I crave for normalcy, and to be able to confide in you
But you’ve left me to fall apart like a box in the rain

I see others and how they live
Their hearts full
Not like mine
Not like yours

Not like your empty, broken heart
That knows nothing other than breaking mine
Not like my broken heart
That knows nothing but to try and fix the pieces.

Oh, it’s truly a cycle of stupidity, and I want to break free
But I live in a world of abuse, avoid, forgive
Over sticks, and stones...
no broken bones ...
only thick bands ringing
neck, and throat.

I floated onward, anyway:
my fainted,
fading body, splayed;
swathed, and rolled,
in a jacket shroud,

as gently, as...a paper wave.
Yet, onward, pulled,
on grasses, loud,

As softly, as
...a blackened cloud.
Bit of nostalgia, here. Contemplating the time I was jumped from behind and nearly choked to death, with my own hooded coat.

He dragged me, unconscious, the entire length of the schoolyard playground, and left me unconscious, at the foot of the slide.

...I imagine my thick, winter jacket made quite the ruckus.

When asked about it, later, he said I have a "big ******* mouth", and he was determined to "shut it for me".

To this day, I have no idea, what set him off.

...I never did learn, how to do that, so, naturally, it was the first of many such experiences. Lol

...I have clawed, and fought, until ******, for my right, to my own voice, my entire life.
I woke up today feeling brand new
Seven years of hell
That you put me through
Today marks that day
Today i am new
No longer cursed by you

Today i would usually wake up
Feeling your hands on my skin
Behind my back
Like a heart attack
The torture
The fear
The guilt
The tears

This time
I'm new
This time I'm over you
My cells have changed
I am not the same
I'm stronger now
I'm no longer lost
But found

I'll never hit the ground
Screaming your name again
I'll still feel the pain
Behind my brain
Never in my skin
Never in my bed
You,
                          I have shed
Forever you are dead
And I am free
I can feel it in my body~
They say after seven years your cells have changed so that man never touched my body now. I am free
Please love me right
with kindness that doesn’t fade,
with hands that don’t hurt,
with a heart that remembers
I am here,
waiting
to be known
All I’ve ever wanted.
Who the hell you think you are?
to take my spark
you were meant to light it
not dim it
now it just flickers
barely alive

Who the hell you think you are?
to make my eyes
lose their sight
with the very tears
that once searched for your smile

Who the hell you think you are?
to make the hand
that reached for you
bleed

Who the hell you think you are?
to scar the skin
that once stayed soft for you

Who the hell you think you are?
to shatter the heart
that only beat your name

Who the hell you think you are?
to make a body
live like it’s dying
just because
it loved you

WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!?

________________

Who the hell you think you are?
to give your spark away
to someone who dimmed it

Who the hell you think you are?
to let your tears fall
until your vision faded

Who the hell you think you are?
to let your fingers bleed
for someone who never reached back

Who the hell you think you are?
to let them write pain
onto your skin

Who the hell you think you are?
to hand your heart over
only to watch it break

Who the hell you think you are?
to let someone
bury you in silence
while you're still breathing

Who the hell you think you are?
to let them hurt you
and call it love

WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!?

Who the hell you think you are ?
to make me hate my self
to make angry on myself
to make me regret the choices I made

WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!?
Frightening! I appear to have forgotten
the art of turning your stomach
inside out. How curious but
not unexpected. I've been
wildly out of practice,
I admit.

Earlier in life,
when I strived for skin
and bones to be observable;
I've been known to,
here and there,
partake in
flicking the bag.
But mainly I just starved.

The frequency picked up when
the alcohol became cigarettes
and weekends became blurs.
Drinking pure spirits was
a sport and despite my
frail body, I was
a champion.

One time when I was fourteen
I drank two bottles of
cheap whiskey and
slept for two days,
vaguely submerged
in stomach acid
and a little bit of blood,
courtesy of my esophagus.

And then the opioids came
and took me under their
warm, sterile wing.
Since I only took the pills when
the clock struck twelve,
I'd withdraw daily
and sleep.
The price was sprinting towards the ceramic and resting my head on the cool rim
Nuzzling my grey pal before spewing
bile and stomach acid thrice
every morning or scratching
my head and pulling out
fistfuls of hair, waking
up on the floor more
times than I can
truly remember.

I did that for two years
from fifteen to seventeen
with little to no breaks.
When I woke up one
morning, with my head
propped up against
the wall and a puddle
of thick, black gunk,
moved along the
rhythm of my
shallow breath,
warming my chest.
I brushed the blood
off my teeth and
went back to sleep.

Every now and then I
break my streak, mostly
in weak moments when
it's difficult to stay and not
take my leave. But it's
never more than a day
because it stopped being
a relief, now more of
a reminder that I'm
doomed to remain
clean. At least in terms
of opioids, now I mostly just
smoke **** or drink
a little bit too much.
I remain a work in progress.

So I guess I'm out of
practice. But it seems
like that's a good thing.
I wish you would’ve noticed.
The way I flinched at the sight of her
The way I laughed at things, even if they weren’t funny.
How I stopped calling you “daddy” 
Stopped leaving my room.
Stopped giving you hugs.

I wish you would’ve noticed.
All the bruises.
All the fear.
All the crying.

I wore them like perfume.
And still, you never smelled it. 

The scent was strong, filled with suffering and pain. 
It followed me everywhere. 

But you never recognized the scent of heartache.
Of betrayal.

And, eventually, I stopped crying altogether.
Because I knew tears wouldn’t make you notice anyway. 

You were supposed to be my dad.
I trusted you.
I loved you.
And you never noticed.

And even when you did,
you left. 
On your own terms.

And I was just strung along,
because I didn’t have a choice.

You moved on.
A new house.
A new girlfriend.
A new life.

But you never thought to apologize.
You never once asked what I wanted.
What I went through.
What went on behind closed doors.

I was expected to just…
forget.
But I never did.
And I don’t think I ever will.

Still,
you never noticed.
Or maybe you did.
Maybe you just didn’t care

I wanted an explanation.
I wanted to grieve.
Not for the people I left behind.
But for the person I once was.

I wanted to mourn for the version of me who trusted you.
The one who thought you would protect me.

Because you were my dad.

You were supposed to be my role model.
The one who was supposed to tell me that it’s okay.
To defend me. 
To tell me I’m not dramatic.
That it’s okay to feel this way.

Now, you just yell at me.
Argue.
Get mad because I isolate myself.

“Why are you so lazy?”
Your words chipping away at me.
Just how hers did.

Have you ever thought
I’m not lazy?
That, instead, I’m trying to cope?
Trying to live?
Trying to put on a happy face?

It’s ironic.

The person I thought once loved me, now treats me as if I’m a burden.

I never did get that apology.
And maybe I never will.
TW: parental neglect, emotional abuse
Written from a daughter’s perspective left unseen.
Mariah Jul 22
Everyone deserves to say
I should not have been treated that way
And feel free to refill that space
To be soft to what remains
Until they know they're safe
Or else nothing can change
We need to listen if we want to be heard.
AM Beck Jul 20
Am I your favorite
Punching bag
Taking hit after hit
Because you're sad

Am I your favorite
Little toy
Use me til I'm broken
Then throw me away

Am I your favorite
Soldier
Following every order
But never ranking up

Am I your favorite
Instrument
Playing only the songs
You can sing along to

Am I your favorite
Story
Rewriting the lines
So you're never the bad guy
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